


Lethe

by zinjadu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka lives!, Death, Gen, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Post-Episode: s02e19-20 Twilight of the Apprentice, Selfhood, The Force, names are important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone, without memory, a woman walks on, and in so doing rediscovers herself.</p><p>Inspired by Filoni's Digital Cards at Topps.  Deals with themes of selfhood, memory, time, and being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The body of this woman

_Wake up!_

 

The rumble shook her awake, jolting her back to consciousness.

 

Painful, painful consciousness.

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she rolled over, one hand slapping the rocky ground hard. Levering herself up, she cried out as a pain in her side flared into life. Looking down, she saw that she had a hole, a clean, neat, hole seared through her side.

 

Looking down at it, it almost felt unreal, like she wasn’t looking at her own body. How could this be _her_ body?

 

She didn’t even know how she had gotten here, how she had been injured. Her whole span of memory stretched back perhaps thirty agonizing seconds, and the only thing she knew about for sure was that if she wasn’t dead now, she might be able to survive.

 

Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up on an outcropping, and nearly lost her balance as more of the stones beneath her shifted. She managed to stay upright, but it cost her. One hand tight to her side, she paused to catch her breath.

 

 _In. Out. Let the pain go, do not hold tightly to it_ , she told herself. Then paused, frowning, as the pain seemed to fade into the background of her mind

 

 _Now, how did I know how to do that?_ she wondered.

 

Then the structure rumbled again, and she had a feeling that this place was only barely stable. She needed to get out of here and fast. Not that fast was exactly an option, but with the pain cordoned off, she straightened and made her way to the one possible point of safety: a single triangle-shaped opening.

 

The passageway was dark, and she could just barely make out a stairway leading down. Down into what depths, she had no idea.

 

 _Dark and deep_ , she heard, or she thought.

 

It was hard to tell, if someone else was saying something, just on the edge of her hearing, or if she was thinking loudly.

 

_Dark and deep, do you dare?_

 

She hesitated.

 

Something in her (or something outside of her, it was so hard to tell), told her that if she started, she could not stop. There was no going back, nothing to do but go forward.

 

 _Darkness ahead_ , came the thought, the voice. _But death behind, or are they one and the same?_

 

She didn’t know.

 

But trying had to be better than letting this structure, whatever it was, collapse on top of her.

 

Or, she hoped it was.

 

One foot, then another, her head held high, she descended the stone staircase, and felt the barest rush of air, neither cold nor warm to her skin. It was like being swallowed by darkness, consumed by the stone itself. Maybe she was already dead, maybe this was only her mind creating images for itself as the brain died, letting go of memory first, then the body, letting go of all that it was to be alive, thinking, feeling, knowing.

 

It was an oddly comforting thought, that she was already dead.

 

Behind her, she heard the crack of stone breaking, the heavy booming thud of pillars falling, and as she continued down the stairs. With no light ahead, and less and less light from behind as the entryway was filled with rubble, she pressed on.

 

_Dead or not, alive or not, what is the difference here and now?_

 

She couldn’t tell.

 

There was much she couldn’t tell, couldn’t say, one way or another. This body, this place, it was all hers and not hers. It belonged to someone else, someone who _remembered_ , someone who she once might have been but could not say for sure.

 

Maybe she was all that was left now.

 

But there was no going back, and the darkness was complete.

 

She walked on.


	2. All the gods know destinations

The stairs went down, down, down into the darkness.

 

No light to guide her, she adapted.

 

She could smell and taste the air, the stone. It was fresh, like this did lead somewhere.

 

 _Somewhere safe? What is safe? You were never safe_ , came that voice again, in her head and outside of her at the same time.

 

But the air was fresh in her nose, and the stone tasted of earth and water. She could feel the breeze over her flesh, though the pain in her side, the _hole_ in her side ached and throbbed. Pushing the pain to a corner of her mind was getting harder and harder, but she could not stop.

 

It was her montrals and lekku that gave her the most information.

 

There had been one step out of alignment, one step that was a bit higher than the others, and she had almost slipped and tumbled down, down, down the stairs. It could have killed her that, but she caught herself, and let out a sharp, high cry of surprise.

 

Though she wondered at the alien sound of her own voice, she heard her voice coming back to her, bouncing off the walls, the steps, the ceiling, and forming a picture of sound in her mind.

 

And the words came to her.

 

 _Montrals. Lekku. A huntress does not rely on her eyes alone_ , another voice came, an older voice, that of a woman, and wise. It was not the voice that inside/outside of her mind, and so she hoped it was a voice of someone she had known, someone who might remember _her_.

 

If she could find that woman.

 

If she could figure out where she was.

 

That was the trouble with being lost. How could she get from _here_ to _there_ if she didn’t even know where she was starting from?

 

She tried not to think about what that meant for her _self_.

 

But the stairs went on, and she used her voice, pitched high, high, high into a range of sound that made the stones sing to her. It was hearing and seeing all mixed together as one, and then… then the picture of sound in her mind seemed to have an opening, an end to her descent.

 

She stopped, and trilled again.

 

And again, there was an opening ahead. It was at the very edge of her vocalizations and hearing, but it was there.

 

With a grimace for her side, but renewed vigor, she made her way down the steps, and held her eyes wide open for the chance, the prayer, the hope of light, of something other than unrelieved blackness.

 

She did not have to wait long, for it was there, a subdued light, a dull, low, red glow. Even that gentle light hurt her eyes, but she pressed ahead.

 

Almost unbelieving, she went down the last few steps, and stopped, standing in the archway of the stairs she had come down. Above, the ceiling, if there was one, was lost in more darkness. But here, before her, clumps of rocks gave off that strange red light, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw a path before her, winding between pillars that looked like mighty trees reaching up into the unknown.

 

Then she saw it. A bird. It was a small bird, and she could not tell what color it was in the low, dull light, but it sat on a broken off pillar.

 

It stared at her, eyes fixed on her.

 

 _Who are you?_ came the voice again, or it was the bird.

 

For a moment, for just a moment, something stirred in her mind, an echo of a dream more than a memory, but it was there. It was the feel of tall grass on her skin, the smell of a large animal and blood, the pounding of her heart in her chest.

 

She felt it, and her hands convulsively clenched, reaching for something that wasn’t there.

 

“I’m a huntress,” she croaked, her speaking voice a foreign thing to herself. That was when she realized that in pushing her pain away, she had also pushed away her thirst, her hunger, all of her body. Now it all came rushing back, and she staggered, falling to one knee.

 

 _Who, not what. A poor huntress besides,_ the bird, the voice said, and it had gained a dry quality to it, like it was evaluating her and finding her wanting.

 

Then the bird ruffled its feathers and flapped its wings. Then it flew a little distance, stopped to look at her, and flew a little further. She didn’t understand what the bird, what the voice, wanted entirely, but she understood the direction to follow well enough.

 

 _So trusting. This could be your death_.

 

“I might be already dead,” she rasped. But she fought her way back to her feet and lurched forward. She moved, but she was unable to regain the clarity of mind to push the pain away. So. She would endure it.

 

_Ah ha, clever huntress._

 

“Am I dead?” she asked, staggering forward, using the pillars for support as needed, following the flitting flight of the bird. It looked at her sharply at that question.

 

_If you are not you, are you alive?_

 

The question made no sense, but she declined to say so. Instead, she pressed on, following the bird, following the path. Part of her wondered, if she wandered, if she deviated from where she was asked to go, what would happen to her? If she wandered into the darkness, away from the red lichen on the stone?

 

The bird flew at her then, its sharp talons cutting at her face, at her montrals and lekku, and she threw her hands up in defense, and pushed, batting away at the bird. Still it kept coming, harrying her, and she _pushed_.

 

It was flung some distance away from her, but righted itself easily enough in mid air. The bird, the voice, it did not speak to her again, but she felt a sharp stab of disapproval.

 

“Who are you?” she asked, as she grit her teeth and continued to follow the path.

 

_If you do not know, I cannot tell you. Who I am matters little to you if you do not have a frame of reference._

 

“That’s nonsense,” she said, and she heard something else, smelled something else then. Water. Not the dampness and drip of stone, but fresh water, running water. The bird and voice forgotten, she rushed forward to bank, and knelt.

 

The light was too dim to be able to look at her reflection in the water, and she had harbored some vain home that seeing herself would make her remember. But that was not to be. Instead, she cupped her hands together and brought the water, the cool water, to her lips.

 

The water stung at the cuts on her lips, and seemed to stick for a moment in her parched throat, but she drank. Each drink was easier than the last, and when she had drunk her fill, she washed the cuts on her face, her arms, her montrals and lekku.

 

Then gingerly, so carefully, she touched the water to the hole her side. Hissing in pain, she cleaned the nearly deadly wound, the wound that could still kill her.   But as the water dried the pain seemed to recede from her body, as though she had been able to push it away again, though she knew she had done no such thing.

 

 _Come_ , the voice said, and the bird stared down at her from a broken off pillar in the middle of the underground river. _You must find yourself_.

 

“I’m right here,” she said.

 

_No, you are not. You never were._

 

And it flew to her, circled her head once, and flew back over the water. Leading her on again.

 

Swinging her legs around, she dangled her booted feet in the water. It was cold, and she knew it would seep into her bones if she wasn’t careful. This place seemed poised to kill her and save her at the same time. It made her walk carefully, finding the middle ground between two extremes.

 

Sliding into the water fully, she gasped as it came up over her hips, sending a chill through the very core of her. The bird circled her head again, and flew on, and she knew she had to be quick.

 

Wading through the water, she followed the small bird.

 

She followed. Be it to life or death.


	3. The men the blood still pumps forward

The water was not still.

 

It flowed around her, slowly, but surely. It did not run, for it was a patient kind of water. An accepting water, it soaked into her clothes and her skin, and while it took what little warmth her body had, it also took away pain.

 

Trailing her hands in the water, she heard other things, on the edge of hearing or only in her mind, still. Like the bird. Then she blinked, looking up. The bird was gone, and she had been alone for some time now.

 

Maybe she had imagined the bird and the voice, and she was going mad. She was going to die, or she was already dead, and this was some hellish afterlife, where should wander alone. Forever.

 

Her breathing became shallow, and she felt her heart beating fast in her chest, pounding against her bones. A drum, a taught drum pounding _boom boom boom_. And she heard her heart echoing around her, echoing in this place.

 

_Boom!_

_Boom!_

_Boom!_

But it wasn’t her heart alone. It was a cannon, a charge, a mortar, an explosion, and she wanted to run, wanted to flee, but the water, the water seemed to hold her fast.

 

Death was coming for her, death was coming and she couldn’t _do_ anything, merely witness.

 

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see, but there was no escape, because there was no escape from what was in her own mind, or rather, what was in the mind of the woman she had once been. That woman was still there, perhaps, clawing, fighting, but she didn’t want to be that woman again. How could she? She didn’t know who that woman was.

 

 _An explosion, seeming to rock the whole world, and the bodies of men sent flying. So many bodies. Bodies piled high. Stinking and rotting where they fell_.

 

She gasped with horror, her teeth clenched against her own sickness.

 

_Men. Dead men, men made to die._

 

“ _No_!” she cried, in her mind and with her voice, felt something from within her, something she drew on and channeled through her heart and mind, brace outwards, her hands flung out to her side, and the water moved away from her in a rush.

 

The images faded, and she opened her eyes, seeing the water around her had parted, held at bay by her will alone. Spreading her fingers, holding her hands up, palms out, she turned on the spot, surveying her handiwork.

 

 _You cannot push it all away and remain yourself_ , the voice said, and she looked up. The bird was back, looking down at her from another perch, its head cocked and eyes bright and intent.

 

“Go away! I’m not her!” she called to the bird.

 

_No. She is dead._

 

“Good,” she said, and continued to hold the water at bay.

 

_Who are you, then, if she is dead?_

 

She had no answer to that. She continued to extert her will over the water, because the water made her remember more. It… it healed her body, she could feel that her side was now stretched and tight, like the wound was no longer there. But worse, it tried to heal her mind.

 

_How long can you last? When memory hounds you?_

 

“What will happen to me, if _she_ comes back?” she whispered.

 

_What will happen if she does not?_

 

For several long moments, she thought, thought furiously, and tried to find another answer, another answer that she could stand. But there wasn’t one. There were only two options, and either way, she would cease to exist, at least in any way that mattered.

 

But her arms were getting tired, so tired, and her will was faltering.

 

And in some things, she knew, though how she knew she could not say, retreat was better than defeat.

 

Lowering her arms, the water rushed back around her, and as though it sought vengeance, it knocked her off her feet. She flailed, her arms too tired to give regain her balance, and nothing nearby to hold onto. So she went under, her body limp and unresisting, and she remembered.

 

_Faces, all the same, same nose, same eyes, same skin, but different. So different. Tattoos, shorn hair, facial hair, painted armor, bright grins, concerned looks, sound advice, stout hearts, her men. Her brothers._

_“Commander,” they said, a thousand voices all the same but not. Timber and tone unique, and each beloved._

_All the same, the same, made to fight, made to die, her men, and they fought. And they died._

 

_Yet they lived._

 

Blowing out the last of the air stored in her lungs, she set her feet on the stone bottom and stood, bursting from the surface of the water in a violent spray.   Panting, getting her breath back, she was assaulted by images, disjointed and strange, moments of battle, moments of rest, moments of aftermath.

 

She wanted to cry.

 

She wanted to scream.

 

She wanted to rage.

 

Instead, instead she breathed. Closing her eyes, she stood, hands trailing in the water, and let it come. And she endured, and she grieved, because she could not remember their names. Those names didn’t belong to her, they belonged to _her_ , and she wasn’t her. Not yet.

 

 _Who are you?_ the voice, the bird asked again.

 

Eyes closed, she thought for a time, and then said: “I was called ‘Commander’, by my brothers.”

 

 _You’re learning_. Then the bird swooped about her, circling her head once, and then flying into the distance. _Come, you have far to go._

 

“Far to go, or much to remember?” she asked.

 

 _They are one and the same_ , the thought came, and she waded through the water as quick as she could, trying to catch up.

 

Maybe she would recover her self.

 

Or not.

 

But she would not die here.

 

Not like this.


	4. I cannot undo myself

She walked through the water, between the stone pillars as they ascended into the darkness above her. The bird was still with her, flitting before her, taking a rest here and there on broken off stones, watching her with too knowing eyes.

 

There was no rest for her.

 

Only forward, never back.

 

The water was cold, cold, and it ate into her flesh, seeped into her bones. Each step was becoming a fight, a fight to move, a fight to not let the water take her again.

 

It was not the memories she feared any longer.

 

 _You feared yourself, how strange_ , the voice, the bird said.

 

“People fear what they don’t know, they fear their own destruction,” she said, grateful for something to do other than let her memories of war and brothers lost swirl around in her mind’s eye. Even if it was talking to a bird, or a manifestation of her own insanity, she wasn’t sure which one it was.

 

It hardly seemed to matter, however, at this point.

 

_Fear. So much fear. Fear of pain, fear of loss, fear of failure._

 

“What of it?” she challenged, starting to get a little bit angry at the bird now. It was too damn cryptic by half.

 

 _Oh, now anger. How appropriate_ , it said, sounding somehow derisive. A bird. Sounding derisive.

 

“What would you know of any of it? You’re not real, I see that now. You’re just a part of my own mind to keep me from going crazy,” she said, hauling her body through another stretch of the water, forcing her tired legs to move.

 

 _If you’re talking to yourself, then you already are crazy,_ it said, now sounding smug.

 

She was starting to hate the damned bird.

 

 _Ah, there it is. There it is. The last, the final step, you brought yourself to this point. Know that_.

 

“What the _kriff_ does that mean?” she challenged, yelling after it as it flew on ahead, as though nothing was wrong.

 

“You’re goading me!” she called, her voice carrying, over the water, and she could feel on her montrals how empty and large this place was. How easily she could get lost, and she felt the fear strike at her anew. So many paths to follow, and she had to trust in this bird, in this vision. But how could she knew it was the right one?

 

She couldn’t.

 

She had to take it on faith, but she felt too drawn out and thin at the edges for the demands of faith.

 

It stayed silent, and she trudged ahead, trying to understand. The bird wasn’t random, wasn’t cruel. It clearly had a purpose. Maybe it _wasn’t_ a manifestation of her own insanity. But if it wasn’t that, then what was it?

 

Breathing out sharply through her nose, she turned over everything in her mind, over and over again, trying to understand, to see what she was missing. Exhausted, she leaned against one of the pillars and closed her eyes. She let one hand trail in the water again, letting the memories come. They had guided her before, and perhaps they would do so again. And perhaps, now that she sought them out, they would not nearly kill her this time.

 

She let her breathing even out, and she found inside herself a calm, still center. That was something she had missed, for certain, unsure how it was there, but grateful for it. The water lapped at her gently, like arms rocking her to sleep, and she drifted inside her own mind.

 

_“You need to go, Commander!” her brother said, his golden eyes afraid, his blonde hair shorn short._

_But she didn’t want to go, not again, not like this._

_“I need you to go, to live!” he said, his heart in his eyes, and she knew that his heart was hers, and would always be._

_So she left, like a thief in the night, leaving chaos behind her._

_And she drifted in the shadows, but she was always afraid, afraid to step into the light._

_But, it made her angry, to watch what had become of the galaxy, and she hated the man who had enslaved whole races, whole star systems, had made everyone afraid and alone and beat down, because there had been a time when they were together and proud and hopeful. The lack made it all the worse._

_Sometimes, it was like she burned with rage._

_Until she tamped it down, until no one, not even her could see it. She hid her fear, and she ignored her guilt, guilt for living when so many had died. That **he** had died, a man she had admired so much, lost, lost, lost, _ like she was lost now in her own mind.

 

Her eyes snapped open, her breathing ragged.

 

 _You push too hard,_ the bird said, and it almost sounded… concerned. She shot it a skeptical look at that.

 

“Now you tell me to hold back, when before you urged me onward?” she asked, sarcasm lacing her voice.

 

 _Too much, too fast, it is dangerous_ , the voice said, and the bird fluffed itself up, almost like it was indignant.

 

“That’s life,” she answered, and fell back into her own mind, heedless of the bid crying out above her, a high, piercing cry that threatened to hurt her montrals, but she blocked it out.

 

_Down, down, down, wandering, hiding, until… until she could take it no more, until she could no longer watch. Until her heart was sore for the wanting._

_Then she found a way to live in the shadows._

_“You will be the point on which change will happen,” a man said, tall with warm brown eyes, eyes become like steel, and a picture of a little brown eyed girl on his desk, her hair in a complicated braid._

_“You will be my Fulcrum,” he said, and she stood tall and proud again, straight and true, her fear and anger and hate were tempered, and with each mission, each small victory, they abated until they were gone, until only her hope and steely determination remained._

_But the guilt still lurked like a beaten dog._

 

She opened her eyes slowly, her breathing even, and she saw how much her other self had hid away, had refused to acknowledge. She had been afraid, the woman she had been once, afraid of discovery, angered at the state of things, hating the men who had done this the men and women she had loved.

 

But the one thing she could not purge was the guilt, not for any thing she had done to anyone, but simply for surviving where so many had not. And a deeper guilt, a guilt she could not yet access, like the woman who was her other self kept it from her now, unwilling to lance the boil and unload the hurt. Instead, she had the impression that her other self clutched this hurt to her heart, like it was something she deserved to feel.

 

A punishment.

 

“I was Fulcrum, an agent of rebellion,” she said, spearing the bird with a piercing look. A fierce determination rose in her then, to see this to the end, to uproot _everything_ that was inside her own mind, to finally, finally be free of this maddening place, this maddening chase inside her own head.

 

“But there is more, locked away. I will find it,” she declared. The bird called softly, sweetly.

 

 _When you are ready, it will come, not before_ , the voice, the bird said.

 

“You expect me to believe that, to have faith? To have faith in what? Density, fate… _you_?” she asked fiercely.

 

 _In yourself,_ it said calmly, something in her stilling at that idea, that she was her own guiding light. Then the bird launched itself off the pillar it had been sitting on. It flew once more in the direction they had been heading, not waiting to see if she followed.

 

Because she had to follow, so she would. But she had the feeling that this could not last forever. That at some point, she would have to go on.

 

Alone.

 

Just her.

 

And her memories.

 

To face whatever came next.


	5. Let their souls writhe in like dew

How long she walked through the water, she did not know, her attention occupied by fighting the chill and the damp and the small selection of memories that danced in her mind like frenzied revelers. What she did know was that any one of those could have stopped her, could have held her in their grip as she followed the bird that was the voice in her head.

 

At least, that’s how she thought it might work.

 

Or the bird was actually a bird. That spoke to her. With its own mind.

 

 _Why do you wonder about me?_ it asked, flitting from pillar to pillar, giving off a feeling of dry amusement.

 

“Because I don’t know what you are,” she said, exasperated. Time and distance had lost their meaning in the dark redness of this place, and for all she knew she had been wandering for years.

 

 _Ah, but you do_ , it said, once again smug. It was smug a lot, which was highly annoying.

 

“Let me guess, I just don’t remember, right?” she asked, her tone dry as she waded through the water, her memories held at bay for now. The bird only trilled, a noise that rang in her montrals pleasantly, and flitted on ahead.

 

In response, she let out a trill of her own, something she had done since the stairs that led to this place, but instead of feeling only pillars and empty distance, she felt something else. Another opening. Her heat leapt in her chest, and she picked up her pace, ignoring the ache in her tired legs.

 

 _Too fast! Too fast!_ the bird cried as she passed it, rushing headlong into the unknown, because something different was up ahead. Perhaps, finally, a way out.

 

Or. Or a way leading her deeper into this maze, into this madness.

 

She stopped, panting, trying to catch her breath, holding her hand to her aching but healed side. The bird screeched at her, flying close around her head, its wings nearly touching her, making her flinch instinctively. At the bird’s attack, even though she knew it wouldn’t hurt her, as it had done this to her before to express its displeasure with her, she felt something rise in her, also on instinct. Something in her soul rise and reach out to something outside of her, something vast and deep and ancient beyond imagining.

 

So she let it reach, and for the first time, she touched something greater than herself. Something with many facets to it, but not like a jewels. Jewels were static, solid, this… this _moved_ , this flowed. It flowed, she saw, through her, around her, between all forms of life. She saw the threads of light and dark and every color in between stretching and twisting and twining together, and her breathing turned ragged again, because it was too much for her mind to process.

 

 _Come back,_ the voice said, and she swore it wasn’t just a voice, a sexless, echoing thing, but the voice of a woman, young but wise, coaxing and sad and sweet.

 

 _Come back_ , the voice whispered, and in it was the peace of a warm summers day, the touch of a friend’s hand on the shoulder, and the smell of tall grass in the wind. She let herself be drawn back to her body, with its aches and pains and thirsts and hungers, but she let herself have one last glimpse of the majesty she had found, her mind drawn inexorably to the beauty and connection she had experienced.

 

Blearily, she opened her eyes, and found she was staring up into the darkness and something hard was at her back. With a grimace, she levered herself up on the stone, stone stairs. Leading up. She blinked, starting down at the stone, feeling the roughness of it under her hand.

 

The bird peered at her, sitting on another broken pillar.

 

She stood, feet still in the water, contemplating not the stairs up, and possibly out, but the bird. The bird that was not a bird, she knew now.

 

“There’s no point in asking how I got here, is there?” she asked wryly. The bird merely cocked its head at her. She looked up the staircase, wondering if it would be as long as the stairs she took to get down here. Though, she had no way of being able to tell, she supposed.

 

“Well. We should get going,” she said, and waited for the bird to move, as it had done, to lead her on, to guide her.

 

 _I cannot leave this place_ , the bird, and it was that strange toneless voice once again, all hint of the woman and the peace gone. _Only here, can I be as I am._

 

“What if…” she trailed off, a sliver of fear eating into her. She thought she had left that behind, but now she wondered if one could ever leave fear behind, leave anger and hate behind. Perhaps, they were always there, waiting. Bu then, she thought of those threads and colors and lights that she had witnessed and the peace that was to be had there, and she let her worry spool out and away from her into that greatness.

 

“Without you, how can I find my way?” she asked, and she knew it was still there, the uncertainty, but she could not let it control her actions. Her actions had to come from another place, another source. Her self, her true self, which hid away still, somewhere, underneath the guilt, behind the wall _she_ , her other self, had made.

 

 _You brought yourself to this place, I am but a reminder, a remnant, a ghost,_ it said, and there, there for just a moment was the echo of another time, another place, something just beyond the edge of memory.

 

 _You do not need me, but though I am not with you, that does not mean I cannot aid you,_ it said, and whatever had been there was gone, back to slumbering in her mind. She turned, looking up into the darkness, up the stairs that might take her out of this place, or, perhaps they were merely a symbol inside her own mind.

 

“You’re a part of me, not me, but somehow still me,” she said softly, understanding without knowing blooming in her mind, an altogether strange sensation. “And I shall carry you with me… always.”

 

The bird, the voice, whatever it was that part of her mind and soul, but somehow also _not_ , was quiet, and she did not spare it a backwards glance as she put one booted foot on one step, then another, rising out of the water.

 

A mirror to before, when her journey was down, down, down, into the unknown, now, instead, she rose.

 

Still into the unknown.

 

But no longer completely unknowing.


	6. The face at the end of the flare

The stairs curved and twisted as they rose into the darkness, her booted feet scuffing against the tones. Once again her eyes were of no use to her, and her montrals and fingers told her more than enough to guide her upwards, with only the occasional trill to keep herself aware of possible pitfalls.

 

There were none, thankfully, but soon she reached a landing.

 

She stopped, tilting her head this way and that, calling out, up into the ultrasonic range that pinged sharply off the stones and painted a picture in her mind of two hallways stretching out to either side of her. There was little to differentiate them, and she wondered if she should go down one or the other or continue up.

 

Continuing up seemed like the obvious route, but what was obvious was not always correct. More, without the bird, the voice, to guide her, she would have find her own path.

 

She breathed out and let her mind open to that bright majesty she had encountered. It was still there, complex and mighty and waiting. Unsure what she was doing, but feeling like it was something she had done before, she focused on the problem she faced and released it like an animal back into the wild.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Not even a vague inkling.

 

Frowning, she tried again, closing her eyes though it seemed pointless in the complete darkness. This time she tried to mimic going one way and then the other, to see if there were different outcomes.

 

Again, nothing.

 

 _I never was much good at meditating either_ , a voice came, male, though not overly deep. Young, but not juvenile.

 

The instincts of a huntress took over, and she let out a few high trill bursts. No one but here was there, no other solid form existed. So, another voice from her mind. Well, she had handled one, another wouldn’t be a problem. This one sounded nicer at least.

 

Putting aside the problem of a new possible manifestation of probable insanity, she decided to go with her first instinct, which was to continue up. However, just as she was about to take the next step up, the voice came back.

 

_Don’t get cocky, youngling._

 

She froze, booted foot poised above the step.

 

Then slowly, carefully, she set her foot down.

 

Nothing happened, yet something certainly _had_ happened. But she had to keep going, she knew that much. So she went, up and up and up, until the stairs stopped, and she had to choose. Left or right, left or right.

 

“Well. Stang,” she said, hands on her hips, trilling again, trying to detect any difference, any difference at all between the pathways.

 

Then she thought, maybe, just maybe, she should go back. What if one of the other pathways led to a staircase that led up and out properly, instead of ending like this? Turning about, she was just about to go back down when she felt like someone had just screamed at her stop. Gritting her teeth, she back peddled and ran smack into the wall behind her.

 

 _Watch yourself, Snips. Be mindful of your surroundings_ , the voice said, and she felt her eyes go wide in shock, and her breath started to come in halting gasps as memory set her mind on fire.

 

_He was tall and strong, but his blue eyes were kind._

_“Think you can handle it, Snips?” he said, crooked smile lighting up his eyes._

_“I’m proud of you, Snips.”_

_“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”_

_“Don’t leave **me**.”_

_Words, so many words, moments in time, a bond, a love, a family, and then. It shattered, breaking apart in fragments that cut deep, each shard working its way into her soul. And the guilt, the overwhelming guilt because he was dead and she hadn’t been there, they were all dead and she had done nothing._

_“Then you will die,” he said, come back from the dead and into her life like a revenant, a hungry ghost. One mad yellow fixed on her, and in it she saw the fire of his hate and anger and fear. The fire he would use to burn her to ashes._

 

“Skyguy,” she whispered, her voice ragged as though she had been screaming, screaming for days, and her stomach clenched as though she had emptied it, though there was nothing in it to begin with. Then she smelled the bile, but it was stale, like it too had been there for days.

 

Whimpering, she tried to press her face into the cool stone, and she dimly realized that she must have fallen down because she was curled up on her side with her back to the wall that had stopped her progress in the first place.

 

It was all too much, these memories. So much love, so much love lost and turned inside out and bleeding. And the guilt, oh, this was the source of _her_ guilt, the guilt her other self clung to. Leaving him, leaving all of them.

 

The guilt of the survivor.

 

Rooted to the spot by her leaden heart and the memories it carried, the memories that seared a blazing path through her head, she realized that her Skyguy _had_ killed her. He had burned her up and left only this husk behind, this body.

 

And she wondered at the point of it all, if she could remember but not remember enough. If she had found hope only to have it snatched away by the truth of what they had been. If she was a revenant too, now, like him, a ghost that would devour everyone _Snips_ had ever loved, like him, like him, like him, she was so much like him, shaped by him, raised by him, taught by him.

 

Then something else in her rose, not righteous anger or steely-eyed determination, but something else.

 

Something that was her and not her at the same time.

 

 _You are who you choose to be_ , came the first voice, the bird’s voice that was also a woman’s voice, and now she could tell that it did come from inside of her, as though something _else_ was a part of her.

 

“How?” she asked, voice breaking from misuse she could not remember. A cruel joke. Unable to remember an episode when she already remembered so little. “How do I get out of here? How do I become myself again?”

 

 _Look inside yourself to find the way out,_ the woman that was a bird told her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a light out of the corner of her eye, a flicking light, weak and unsteady, but there all the same. Though, as she turned to her head to get a better look, it was gone.

 

Stiffly, she sat up, putting her back to the wall and breathed out, trying to regain control of herself. This time she let herself sink into that vast sea of connections, hoping to find the one thread that would lead her from where she was now to who she had been and to who she would be.

 

So she let her consciousness spool out, out into the vast sea of light and dark and color and glory, and her mind drifted. From this vantage, the memories hurt less; they were merely things that had happened, not events that were happening as though she were living through them again all at once. And then she realized that her memoires _were_ that thread.

 

The past shaped the present and the present was what would shape the future. And hope for the future shaped the choices she had made and was making right now. And now she was making the choice to not give up, to find her way, not back, for there was no going back to how things had been. That was impossible. Rather, she would find her own way.

 

As she had done before. As she would do again.

 

Then she saw it, a flicker of light. Small and weak and dim, but there. Unmistakably there.

 

With a grunt and using the wall at her back, she levered herself up. Then she took a step forward, one hand on the wall still to steady her. Then she took another step. Then another, and another, until she did not need the wall at all.

 

Until she moved on not by sight or sound or touch, but by her heart alone.


	7. The place I am getting to

The light grew as she drew toward it, from a pin-point flicker it became a small orb floating in the distance, then a strong light, making her wince against a brightness that was not physical but something else. She shuffled forward, holding her hands out in front of her, her eyes still closed, the light seeming to fill her mind, pulling her in like a comet back to its sun with its irresistible gravity.

 

Again, time and space seemed to lose all meaning, as she did not know how long she walked or the distance she covered as she was drawn onward. But perhaps time and space didn’t have the meaning she had once thought they did. They were malleable, in some ways, where time and distance did not matter to the heart.

 

Lost in her thoughts and following what might be another hallucination, she walked.

 

Then her hand felt something in front of her, a stone, and she felt a moment of despair at the thought of another dead end, but then she opened her eyes. It was still dark, a deep darkness that seemed to consume light, but then something flickered out the corner of her eye.

 

Running her hands along the stone, she noted it felt different from the other stones. The stones of the floors and walls and stairs and pillars, they were solid but rough, scraping things. This was smooth, almost like glass, but with hard edges, like it had facets.

 

As she trailed her fingers along it, she began to gather the shape of it, a large solid, circle of faceted stone set into the floor. Then she touched a particular kind of facet, one that was raised from the surface of it in a geometric shape.

 

At her touch, it seemed to flicker with an internal light, as though responding to her.

 

Curious, she touched it again, and thought of blue eyes and a scar and notes of love and friendship turned sour: _Skyguy and Snips_.

 

It flared to life, a diamond shaped crystal set into the stone, shedding a blue light, strong and true. It was not enough light to fully see by, but it was more than she had experienced in a long time, and her eyes were drawn to it, drinking it in.

 

Then she saw another jewel, a few hand spans below the first one. She saw, too, in the faint light, that it was set roughly midway up the circle, on the far left side. The second one followed the curve down, and she touched it, thinking this time of green grass, a hunt, her call ringing in her montrals, of being a _huntress_. This jewel flared warm and yellow, like the sun above the plains of turu-grass.

 

Then she saw more, many more, and she wondered which ones she should touch, and then promptly decided all of them. There was one, she touched it and thought of friends lost, but loved well, of a time when she was small and the galaxy had seemed so full of possibility, and it flared orange. Another flared violet as she thought of the fight, the thrill of battle, and then another flared red as she thought of the aftermath of battle of brothers lost and discarded by a people who did not see her brothers as people.

 

The last, she touched it and thought of her connection to that vast majesty that existed behind her eyes, the exquisite life of the universes that she could reach out and touch and move _with_. And as the last jewel flared green, it was as though the whole circle had been struck like a clarion bell, ringing in the darkness.

 

The jewels went out, leaving her alone in the dark once again.

 

She blinked, staring at the line of jewels that had, for a moment, been lit up like a rainbow, brought to life by her memories and emotions.

 

Then, just before she could scream in frustration at having come so far but have nothing, the stone circle itself flared into life, a pin-prick of light seeming to break through the stone.   The light expanded, the stone falling _into_ the light, breaking it apart and filling the circle until it reached the jewels. Then it stopped.

 

Where there had once been solid stone, there was now a disk of coruscating light.

 

Tentatively, she reached for it, then stopped.

 

 _Why do you hesitate?_ the voice said.

 

“What’s on the other side?” she asked.

 

 _Yourself_.

 

“What self? Snips, Fulcrum, the Commander? Or all of her, all together? And if she’s there, what about me? Will I… will I still be alive?”

 

_Are you alive now? You cannot remember, though your body moves. Is this a husk, a shell? What about when a body dies but is remembered? Are they dead if they live in the minds of others? Together, it is clear. One and not the other, the other and not the one, then much is unclear. So you are alive and dead._

 

“I can’t be both, that doesn’t work.”

 

_Doesn’t it?_

 

“So, I go through this, and I’ll be alive again?”

 

_Perhaps. That is your choice. You will only find what you seek. The choice is before you, and it is the choosing the matters, not the outcome._

 

She approached the doorway, the portal of light and wondered where it led, where she would end up, on the other side. Simply on the other side, or transported and transformed? Her fingers hovered just in front of it, drawn to the light and hesitant at the same time.

 

_Choose, my dearest heart, choose._

 

Never looking back, because going back was impossible, she still needed to _know_ , to understand what had been if the future was to be possible. Reference points, she knew. It was all about reference points. Like the stars that guided pilots home, a life needed reference points to make any sense, to _be_ a life.

 

One booted foot braced on the edge of the circle, a moment, a weighing up of choices and chances, and in a headlong decision, she launched herself into the light.

 

And behind her, the light went out, leaving the stone circle and the crystal jewels once again in the dark.


	8. And I, stepping from this skin

The light, the light was everywhere, it was everything. But it was not a light she saw, because she did not have eyes as such anymore. She was herself, but without a body, without hard edges and boundaries that told her where she ended and the light, where the universe began.

 

Then she felt them, the lives that had been connected to her own, the stars she had navigated by. Most of them slumbered, but as she flickered by, they seemed to rouse, to coalesce out of the very fabric of the universe.

 

And her heart, though she did not have a body, her heart seemed full to bursting. These were the ones who had loved her, and as they woke in response to her, memory returned. Not the fragmented, jagged memories that guided her on in that strange underworld, but sharp, intense memories. She drew closer, and then without warning, the memories, the _presences_ , seemed to pounce upon her consciousness, coming at her in a rush, everything at once.

 

_Warm, tall, strong, kind. A sage. Master Plo._

_Running through the turu-grass, and the serene presence of Master Ti, two huntresses running and calling together._

_Men with blood on their hands and in their eyes, brothers, marching far away, so many gone, but one… one not here._

_And more and more and on and on, more points of light, those she had known and lost, those who had been rambunctious, effervescent, loving, determined, hopeful, eager. Those who had been so, so young._

She would weep, had she eyes, had she a body, but there was no weeping. Not now, for they were dead. They were dead and gone to this place to rest, to be one with the energy of the universe, their uniqueness only to live on the memory of those who still walked and talked and breathed.

 

But she did not do these things, and so perhaps, they died with her.

 

And then, then there were the points of darkness, points of inverted light, and though she wanted to pull away, she could not. She was drawn to them, as though they had an irresistible gravity, pulling her into their well.

_Cool, contained, but impressionable, a compassionate soul who had seen too much pain and suffering and so suffered herself. Never to make amends, always a lose thread there, ragged and torn: Barriss._

_Then a gaping hole, a tear, a gash, a wound in the universe itself, an echo of destruction on an unthinkably vast scale, as though a whole planet had been destroyed in an instant. The sheer loss of life still left a rent in the fabric of the universe, but one loss cried out to her, the loss of a leader, Bail Organa, a man of peace who funded a secret war._

 

She wanted to turn away, to flee, to sink down, down into oblivion like the rest and forget, to die, to become one with the universe and finally, finally rest. To lay down her burdens as she had laid down her body.

 

Then she felt something else, the part of herself and that was not her self, the voice that was in her mind and outside of it, the bird, the woman, something approached, as though on silent wings. Approached or rose out of her, it was hard to tell.

 

_But all is not lost. Death is not the end. Remember, here, your first death and your return._

 

Like she had been struck, her whole being seized, as the memory rose to the surface. It had been one she could not remember, even in life, and now, now she saw from inside her own eyes the darkness that had consumed her all unwilling, and the blow that killed her.

 

She saw another figure lying beside her then, a woman of golden light, and Skyguy sitting between them. The light dimmed from the woman’s form and suffused her own, though the conduit of the man she had admired and loved and lost. Her body had been dead, only so much flesh and bone, no force to animate it. But then, but then she had _lived_. Brought back by the last vestiges of power of an ancient being, yes, but brought back by the love of others, for had she not been loved, her Skyguy would not have saved her.

 

“It’s been you, the whole time,” she said without voice. “The Daughter, you’ve been living on inside me, guiding me.”

 

_Yes, dear heart, I have. You had to remember, that even in the darkest pits of despair, even in the blackest of nights, and the shadows of a twisted heart, light remains. So look, my love, and see. Find those who love you, and find your way back._

 

There, close and almost lost in the sheer horror of the destruction of Alderaan, was a weary presence, but one… one that was more aware than the rest.

_Padawan,_ and it was his voice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, though he had aged since she had felt him last. _I had hoped to not see you here for some time_.

 

“I… I’m not here, or… I can choose not to be, I think,” she said, her voice sounding odd to her own montrals, like it somehow came from nowhere and everywhere.

 

 _Most interesting_ , he said, and then she felt him reach out, reaching for others as though he knew where to find them.

 

_Steady and flowing and kind but with a core of durasteel, eyes that saw, eyes that could be opened, mirth and sorrow in equal measure._

_Come far, you have,_ came the thoughts of Master Yoda, _Further still you may go._

 

She felt his care, his admiration for her, to have fought and striven and carried on in spite of all that had gone wrong. That she had held to her path and been true where others had fallen.

 

Thinking of the fallen, then, she felt _him_.

_Another tall presence, but not warm, no. A blaze, an inferno, her Skyguy. Anakin. The shadows there, but no longer drowning him._

 

“You’re free,” she said, and she felt too many emotions to understand them. Sorrow, joy, guilt, love, all rolled and roiling together.

 

 _My love freed me, even as it had trapped me once. Unselfish love, love for my son, and… and sorrow that I could not love you as I loved him_ , he thought.

 

“I could stay,” she said, a desperate longing in her voice.

 

 _You must go_ , he told her firmly. And she felt him _push_ her, turn her around and show her the ties that drew her to life, not death.

 

_Rebels and the hopeful, the last living remnants of Anakin and Padme, the wild and free, and a man. A man with blood on his hands and blood in his eyes who had not marched away, and who remembered her, who kept a candle flame of her soul alive in his heart._

 

There was a strange disembodied sensation of the whole galaxy, the whole universe rushing around her, stars blurring together like a ship jumping to hyperspace, and leaving the dead behind her. Not forgotten, never forgotten, for they were point on a journey, a journey that had shaped her, and forged her, but before her was the unknown, into which she was rushing headlong.

 

Beside her, inside her, she felt the Daughter with her, and in the moments before she left this place, she could not help but know one last thing.

 

“Just tell me, was this all real or was it just in my head?” she asked.

 

 _What is the difference between the two?_ was the answer, and she was not sure why she had expected anything else.

 

* * *

 

Everything hurt.

 

Again.

 

Grimacing, she levered herself up, and saw she was lying on a stone floor.

 

Again.

 

But this time, she was naked. Looking down at her body, she saw no scars, and frantically, she started to run her hands all over herself. Her skin was smooth, unblemished by scars she knew she should have. At least the one in her side where Vader had nearly killed her… or had killed her.

 

She frowned, thinking about the distinction, but decided that being naked and in a cave were more immediate worries.

 

Casting about, she tried to locate something like clothing and failed. She was in a cave, and near her was something like the stone circle in the other place, but this was half buried in grey stone. And then she noticed that she could see, properly see, with her eyes.

 

There was light coming into the cave, and she stood on shaky legs, like she hadn’t used them in a long time. Wobbling forward, she grew stronger with every step, and emerged from the cave, blinking into the dawn light, holding her hand up to block the sun from direct view.

 

She didn’t even know what world she was on, but it had stone caves and rolling, grassy hills, and even occasional trees. So, it couldn’t be all that bad.

 

Then she heard and felt something on the edge of sensing, something relatively large and moving fast. Narrowing her eyes, she peered into the distance and saw a speeder in the distance.

 

Breaking into a grin, she waved her arms madly and called out, not using her highest call, but putting all the effort into it that she could muster. She even drew on the Force for good measure to amplify it and imbue it with just a sliver of curiosity to draw the person to her.

 

The driver made a quick turn and braked sharply in front of her.

 

And then he stared at her.

 

Internally she rolled her eyes. Just her luck she would arrive naked on a strange planet and meet a hormonal male.

 

“Hey there,” he said cautiously, hopping out of his speeder. He approached her nervously, as though he was worried for his own safety. She supposed naked women coming out of caves was not an every day event around here.

 

“You alright?” he asked.

 

“Never felt better,” she said brightly.

 

He blinked at her, like that was not the expected response.

 

“Right, well,” he said, coughing and trying to look at her eyes and face, not her body. She thought it was rather funny, really. “Don’t suppose you know who you are and how you got here?”

 

“Oh yes, yes, I know who I am. I am all of me, again, all back together and in order,” she said happily. She could remember it all, now, and she knew she had people to get back to. And a lot to find out.

 

“Uh, that’s good, ma’am, but do you have a name?” he asked, looking a little wild around the eyes.

 

“Yes, I do. Several,” she answered simply. “Anakin called me Snips, and my brothers, I had so many brothers, the loves my life those men, they called me Commander, and for a time I was Fulcrum, the point on which things moved. But they weren’t me, not the sum of me, because the sum of who we are is not contained in the name, but in those who say it.”

 

“Okay, then,” he said softly, and started to take a cautious tone, like he was dealing with a mad woman when she had simply told him an unalterable fact of the universe. “What _is_ your name?”

 

“Oh! That’s what you’ve been after!” she laughed. “Why didn't you say so? I’m Ahsoka Tano. And I’m alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Getting There"
> 
> How far is it?  
> How far is it now?  
> The gigantic gorilla interior  
> Of the wheels move, they appall me —-  
> The terrible brains  
> Of Krupp, black muzzles  
> Revolving, the sound  
> Punching out Absence! Like cannon.  
> It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.  
> I am dragging my body  
> Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.  
> Now is the time for bribery.  
> What do wheels eat, these wheels  
> Fixed to their arcs like gods,  
> The silver leash of the will ——  
> Inexorable. And their pride!  
> All the gods know destinations.  
> I am a letter in this slot!  
> I fly to a name, two eyes.  
> Will there be fire, will there be bread?  
> Here there is such mud.  
> It is a trainstop, the nurses  
> Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,  
> Touching their wounded,  
> The men the blood still pumps forward,  
> Legs, arms piled outside  
> The tent of unending cries ——  
> A hospital of dolls.  
> And the men, what is left of the men  
> Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood  
> Into the next mile,  
> The next hour ——  
> Dynasty of broken arrows!
> 
> How far is it?  
> There is mud on my feet,  
> Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,  
> This earth I rise from, and I in agony.  
> I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.  
> Steaming and breathing, its teeth  
> Ready to roll, like a devil's.  
> There is a minute at the end of it  
> A minute, a dewdrop.  
> How far is it?  
> It is so small  
> The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ——  
> The body of this woman,  
> Charred skirts and deathmask  
> Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.  
> And now detonations ——  
> Thunder and guns.  
> The fire's between us.  
> Is there no place  
> Turning and turning in the middle air,  
> Untouchable and untouchable.  
> The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ——  
> An animal  
> Insane for the destination,  
> The bloodspot,  
> The face at the end of the flare.  
> I shall bury the wounded like pupas,  
> I shall count and bury the dead.  
> Let their souls writhe in like dew,  
> Incense in my track.  
> The carriages rock, they are cradles.  
> And I, stepping from this skin  
> Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces
> 
> Step up to you from the black car of Lethe,  
> Pure as a baby.  
> \--Sylvia Plath


End file.
